


Wishing You knew What Your Words Meant to Me

by twangcat



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/pseuds/twangcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where the words written on your arm are the first words your soulmate will say to you once they realize they are in love with you. So you could hear your words the first time you meet someone or you could know them for years without it ever coming up because sometimes true love takes time to happen.</p><p>“You see,” she concluded miserably, “when I can call like that to him across space–I belong to him. He doesn’t love me–he never will–but I belong to him.”<br/>– L.M. Montgomery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlinthebyakko from tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thegirlinthebyakko+from+tumblr).



> Happy birthday thegirlinthebyakko! I hope you like it :)
> 
> And a huge shout out to Lellabeth for talking me through this I don't know how many times and helping me to make it infinitely better than it was.

Social convention dictates that people keep their words private so no one can manipulate circumstances to say the words of the person they think they have fallen in love with. But a long time ago, Phil and Nick had traded words. It wasn’t something they talked about, but they both knew and as bad as their words were, they both knew.

It was back in their Ranger days and they were on a mission in Afghanistan that had gone fubar and at best, if Nick survived, he was still going to lose at least one eye, and with that kind of head trauma he had to stay conscious until they could get out of there. So Phil was doing everything he could to keep him talking and keep him alive.

“Come on. Stay with me, Marcus. Now is not going to be your day to die. You’ve got a soulmark, don’t you? Got to keep going until you hear your words.”

Nick barked a bitter laugh. “That’s not a good tactic to keep me going, Cheese.”

“You ever hear your words?”

Nick took another swig of vodka and then another big gulp. “A couple of times. Never anything good.”

“Come on, they can’t be worse than mine.”

“Wanna bet?”

Phil forced a laugh, “I’ll bet you mission reports for a month that mine are less likely to help me meet my soulmate than yours.”

Nick grimaced. “I’ll take that bet, because it’s entirely possible I already killed my soulmate.”

Phil spewed his drink all over the broken table in front of them. “You want to run that one past me one more time?”

Nick grimaced and took another drink. “Please don’t kill me. The fucker in the sky with a sense of humour decided that the words I’m going to hear from my soulmate after they realize they are in love with me, is them begging me not to kill them. And you know what’s going to happen then, Cheese? I’m going to kill that damn motherfucker, because if I’m threatening to kill someone, it’s because I’ve got a mission to kill them and I can’t call it because the target might be my god-damned soulmate.” Nick drained the bottle and reached for the next one. “You think you can top that one?”

Phil frowned. “Yes, sir.”

Nick jerked his head up in surprise and then cursed as the blood started flowing in earnest again. “Really?”

Phil laughed. “My words are ‘yes, sir.’”

Nick laughed and then cursed again. “And you joined the fucking military? What the hell were you thinking?”

Phil shrugged. “I was thinking I wanted to serve my country and be a hero.” He looked around the bombed out shack they were currently sheltering in. “In retrospect, it may not have been a well thought out plan.”

Phil’s radio crackled to life and, he’d never been more grateful to hear the static noise of the search and rescue crew. Six more months and both he and Nick would be finished with their years of service in the Rangers – and they had plans for the next phase of their lives. Only the best of the best got recruited into SHIELD and Phil had never lost his desire to live up to the standards of Captain America, so accepting SHIELD’s offer had been an easy decision for him.

 


	2. Chapter two – Two Men Walk into a Bar

 

10 years later

 

Clint motioned for the bartender to bring him another drink. He liked this bar. It had an old time feel, a broken security camera to preserve his anonymity, and they served tequila shots in rainbow coloured glasses that reminded him of the ‘70s and made him laugh. He just wished he’d discovered it before he felt like he’d run out of options.

Clint was used to working alone. If he’d gone to school, he’s pretty sure his teachers would have written ‘does not play well with others’ and ‘refuses to follow instructions’ on all his report cards.

His latest contract had been with the local mafia, and things had been going well for a while. They gave him targets, he took them out. They paid him, he didn’t ask questions. But the last target had been the 12 year old son of a former ‘family associate’ who ‘needed to be taught a lesson’.

But did they tell Clint that up front? No. They gave him a time, date, location, and vague description of a short person. It wasn’t until after Clint was in position that he realized just how fucked up this situation was. Clint had done a lot of things for money and he’s done even more to survive, not all of which he is proud of. But killing a kid to teach someone a lesson? No. Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.

So he’d shot the mafia guy watching him instead, taken out the two body guards and left a note for the kid to tell his dad to get him the hell out of dodge. Unfortunately, the family didn’t like loose ends. And after two weeks of being hunted, he was out of options. They’d put a bounty out on him for so much money that he’d have been happy to take the contract, if the target had been anyone other than, you know, himself. And he had some friends that might have helped him out of a tight spot, but they were all mercs like him, and not the kind of friendship that he wanted test against that kind of bounty. So he had planned to just go to ground until the heat wore off, but the family had a bee in their bonnet about him and they paid off enough people to track him down in his back-up apartment; and, shortly after dinner last night, he’d felt the need to exit via the window because the building was exploding behind him.

Unfortunately, he’d landed badly and twisted his ankle. The thugs waiting in the alley had taken full advantage of his inability to stand and he’d been forced to use his bow as a quarterstaff to literally beat them into unconsciousness. He’d won, but he’d also broken his bow in the process.

So here he was, sitting alone in a bar, on the run from an angry mafia, with a sprained ankle and a broken bow, but hey, at least the tequila shots were good.

He ordered a third shot. The glasses were really pretty.

The man beside him cleared his throat and Clint just about jumped out of his skin. How the hell had someone sat down beside him and he hadn’t even noticed? He downs his shot and then pushes the glass away, he’d clearly had enough. But the glasses were so pretty… He was seriously contemplating if it was worth ordering another shot just to watch how it made the colours dance in the glass, when the plain-looking man in a suit beside him cleared his throat again and said, “Mr. Barton, I understand you’ve got some trouble with the local mafia. I’d like to help.”

Well, that decided it. He was definitely not ordering another shot. A cup of coffee on the other hand sounds like a damn fine idea.

Clint looked over the man beside him more carefully and re-evaluated his first assessment. He was plain-looking, but not boring; he has a strong jawline, piercing blue eyes, and the way that suit fit him made Clint want to peel him out of it one layer at a time.

It was like this man was custom made to hit all of Clint’s hot buttons at once and Clint wondered if this is what love at first sight felt like – which is the only justification for why instead of asking this man who he is or why he’s here, the next thing he said was, “Sure, we can talk.  What can I get you to drink?”

“Nothing for me thanks, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk here. My last update had your ‘family friends’ just a few minutes out…”

But, what sexy suit man was going to say next is cut off by a hail of bullet fire breaking through the windows and scattering glass everywhere.

“Awww, bar. No.” Clint dived behind the bar and winced when the jump jarred his bad ankle. “I liked this bar.” He looked over at the suit. “Did you see their tequila glasses? They’re all fancy and multi-coloured to make you see colours before your first sip. Why’d they have to shoot up the bar?”

The bar was not on the good side of town and these folks didn’t need any instructions to get the hell out of dodge once the bullets started flying and when Clint risked a look over the bartop he was relieved to see no bodies and just a lot of furniture damage. They shot up the back wall where all the drink bottles and glasses were displayed so there was a lot of broken glass which would make exiting quickly hard and it occurred to Clint that if he’d picked someplace with better security, cops might actually get here in time to help him, but in this neighbourhood it wasn’t worth betting on.

The suit had gotten behind the bar a heartbeat faster than Clint and was already issuing orders into his phone by the time Clint landed. Over the rain of bullets, Clint heard some voices shouting outside and he was getting ready to use the distraction to make a run for it (probably would have been more of a hobble, really – sprained ankle, remember?) but the man in the suit motioned him to stay put, saying, “Trust me. I’m Agent Coulson. I have the situation under control.”

The calm authority in his voice sent a shiver down his spine and no one is more surprised than Clint when he actually listens and sits his but back down behind the bar to wait and see how this all played out.

It didn’t take long for the shower of bullets to stop and when Clint risked another peek over the bar, the only person in the room is a tall black man with an eye patch and a leather duster striding through the smoke-filled space. Clint quickly hid behind the bar again and started looking for the best exit strategy – Mr. Leather did not look like someone he wanted to cross on his best day and, this was definitely not his best day.

Coulson however, stood up, dusted off his suit, tugged his shirt cuffs straight, buttoned his jacket and stepped out to stand toe-to-toe with the intimidating man clad in leather.

The new guy was the first to speak and he sounded pissed off enough to spit nails. “Coulson, you did not file a mission plan for this approach and I did NOT authorize you to go ahead with it!”

Coulson did not give an inch under the one-eyed glare, and when he spoke his tone was just as mild as it had been when he first addressed Clint a few minutes earlier. “I made an executive decision, sir. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.” His calm demeanor made Clint go a little weak in the knees. There was just something so damn sexy about a man who could take control of a room without ever raising his voice.

“And are you going to handle the pissed off Mafia and New York’s finest when they come sniffing around?”

Coulson gave the man in leather a small smile. “I think you’ll find that New York’s finest received an anonymous tip about internal mafia conflicts and were expecting something like this to happen. If we get out of here in the next few minutes they’ll never suspect this was anything other than an internal power grab.”

“Fine,” the guy in leather said with a grunt and motioning towards Clint he added, “And bring in your new pet.” Still talking, he turned and started heading away. “The headaches you cause me, Coulson. You’re the reason I’m going bald before my time.” He ran a hand over his head and continued muttering as he strode out of the bar, his words lost to the chaotic sounds outside. “It’s not the mutants, it’s not the WSC, it’s my god-damned right hand man who’s always sure he knows what’s best...”

Coulson looked impeccable in the suit and the contrast between him and the chaos of the debris around him was striking. Clint couldn’t take his eyes off the man as he walked back to where Clint was sitting, and offered him a hand up. “Don’t mind him, he’s just grumpy before he’s had his first coffee.” His eyes flicked briefly back towards the door and he frowned slightly. “And I did file a mission plan for this… he just hasn’t read it yet because I only finished it a few minutes before I got here.” Coulson looked mildly affronted as he continued, “I always file mission plans. I don’t know why Nick would assume I hadn’t.” He shook his head a little and focused his attention back on Clint. “But that’s neither here nor there. What matters now is you need to get that ankle looked at, and then we can talk about a potential employment opportunity.” He offered Clint a hand up. “No strings attached, I promise.”

He looked Clint right in the eye and Clint couldn’t help but believe him. He’d always wanted a knight in shining armour to come along and rescue him, (he’d never wanted to need rescuing) but something about the idea of a man so competent that he could rescue Clint had always been a hot button for him; and everything about this man felt like he was custom made for Clint and he’d never wanted to trust anyone as much as he wanted to trust this man.

He took Coulson’s hand and let the agent help him up.

“Are you okay, Mr. Barton?”

The strength in Coulson’s grip sent shivers down Clint’s spine; he wanted so badly to impress this man.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.” He took a breath. Maybe it was stupid, but he was ready to offer to take this sex-in-a-suit man to the back room and blow him just for a chance to touch him, so he had to try one more time. “But how about we go out for a drink first? There’s a coffee shop just down the street. My treat. What would you like?”

Clint would be lying if he said he didn’t hold his breath waiting for Coulson’s answer.

But Coulson just smiled blandly at him. “Perhaps another time, Mr. Barton. For now, let’s get you to medical.”

Well fuck. Maybe Coulson wasn’t the man for him after all. Stupid soulmate words. Oh well. Medical, safe employment, and a chance to ogle Coulson a bit more sounded good too, and even if they weren’t meant to be, maybe he could talk Coulson into a little fun on the side.

 


	3. Chapter three – Something to Think About

 

five years later

 

It was Friday night and it was late. At one point, Phil thought he might actually get home before dark. Maybe even have time to feed his cat some wet food instead of the dry kibble she usually got out of the automatic food dispenser. But when Barton’s mission had gone off the rails, that plan had also gone out the window. It wasn’t Coulson’s mission, and he had complete confidence in Agent Woo’s ability as a handler. But even after all these years, when Clint is out in the field, Phil liked to be on hand, just in case anything happened, just so he knew Clint was okay. He knew it was a little unorthodox; it wasn’t something he did for any of his other agents. But with Clint, well, he just liked to know he was okay.

However, despite the crisis, this mission had ended well. Clint pulled off several spectacular shots and the whole team would be coming home safe with all objectives completed. So Phil was a little confused about why Nick was standing in his office and frowning at him like something has not gone according to plan. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”

“Cheese, I can’t help but wonder why you are still here on a Friday night when you don’t have any active missions.”

Phil looked up at Nick confused. “I always have work to do...”

Nick leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You got an active mission that I don’t know about, pal?”

“No, sir.”

“Then it’s got to be Barton again, isn’t it?”

“Again?” questioned Phil. This conversation was making no sense whatsoever and he was seriously starting to consider if the Director has been compromised, when Nick interrupted his thoughts.

“Cheese, I can’t tell if you are being purposely obtuse or just willfully blind, but I am not having this conversation sober.” He rubbed his hand over his bald head. “Do you still have any of the good scotch in your desk?”

Confused, Phil nodded and reached for some tumblers. “Do you want ice or are we taking it straight?”

Nick pushed himself off the wall and walked over to Phil’s couch. “Straight. Just like we did in Afghanistan.”

Phil was facing away from Nick to prepare the drinks and had just finished pouring two fingers into each of the tumblers, but, at Nick’s words, he tipped the bottle over again and kept pouring until both the tumblers were full to the brim.

Tumblers carefully balanced in one hand and the bottle in the other, he joined Nick on the couch then handed Nick his glass before putting the bottle down and taking a big swig from his own drink. “Did it happen?”

Nick barked a bitter laugh and took a gulp of scotch. “Me? No. At least not that I know... But I have been wondering about you.”

Phil almost spat his drink back out but managed to swallow it down in a burning gulp that left his voice raspy. “Me? You know I hear my words a hundred times a day... Why would you ask that? Nothing’s happened.”

“What about Barton?”

Phil had not been expecting that and frowning in confusion, he said, “What about Barton?”

Nick sighed and gestured around the office. “You don’t have any active missions tonight, but you’re still here.”

“I have a lot of work to get caught up on.”

“Bullshit, Coulson. You could work 120 hours a week and you still wouldn’t get caught up on everything that comes across your desk. But that doesn’t keep you here until after midnight every night. You know what does keep you here? Agent Clint Barton.”

Phil frowned at his old friend. “Barton’s not even here tonight.”

Nick rolled his eye and gestured for Phil to take another drink. “I wouldn’t be a good boss, and I’d be a worse friend, if I didn’t notice that whenever Barton’s on a mission you’re always around to check up on his status. You check up on all your agents sometime, and that’s good, but you do it a lot for Barton, and that got me thinking.” He took another big gulp to drain his glass and gestured again for Phil to do likewise. “Most of your agents, after a while you tell them to call you Coulson or even Phil. But not Barton. It’s been years and you’ve still got him calling you ‘sir’ like he was some new recruit. Why is that?”

Confused, Phil decided now was as good a time as any to follow Nick’s lead and downed the rest of his glass to give himself time to think. Still not sure what to say, he focused his attention on refilling both their glasses but Nick just let the silence drag on until Phil ran out of ways to avoid answering his question. Eventually the only thing he could think of to say was, “I guess the subject just never came up?”

Nick took his fresh glass and turned a little so he didn’t have to look directly at his friend. A person’s soulmate words were incredibly intimate and, as close as they were, it just wasn’t something even best friends casually talked about with each other. So instead of looking back at Phil, he kept his eyes focused on the wall across from him and said, “Are you sure it’s not that you want to hear him say it? We both know that if it happens, that’s the one exception to SHIELD’s anti-fraternization regulations.”

Phil shook his head to clear his thoughts a little. “Marcus, it’s not like that. I just like to know he’s okay. He had a rough start and I just like knowing I’m around to help if anything happens and he needs it. That’s all.”

Nick turned his head and fixed Phil with a piercing look. “You have coffee with him every morning. Everything else on Barton’s schedule is erratic, but I could set my watch by him stopping by your office every day before briefings to ask you what you want to drink and you always ask him for a coffee. It’s the only time you drink the breakroom coffee.”

“It’s just a convenient time for a cup of coffee.”

Nick pushed. “His reports are chronically late and you’ve never once written him up for it.”

Phil shrugged. “He doesn’t react well to authoritative discipline, and he always gets them done.”

“You let him use the vents to move around HQ even though it’s explicitly against the rules.”

Phil looked away. “He’s not doing any harm.”

“You’ve never written him up for it or backed up any other agent who wanted to file a complaint about it.”

Phil grimaced a little. “You said it yourself, I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to file minor complaints against otherwise exceptional agents.”

“I saw you give him the last donut in your package before he left today.”

Phil knew his cheeks were red, but at this point he fervently hoped he could blame both that and his tone on the scotch when he mumbled his answer a little defensively, “He gave me the donuts in the first place. It only made sense to share.”

Nick sighed. “Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be.” He finished off the last of his second glass before placing it back down on the table. “Just think about it okay, Cheese? He’s here. He’s alive and he’s on our team. That’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever had going for me, so if it was me I’d at least give it a try.”

Phil laughed and was surprised by how bitter he sounded. “There’s nothing to try. Besides, have you seen him?” Phil sighed and let himself collapse back in his seat. “He could have anyone. Why would he want me? I’m just his handler. Some days I’m not sure if he even thinks of me as his friend.” Phil licked his lips and sighed again. “I’m not saying I haven’t thought about it because I’m only human and that man could tempt the gods to come down from the mountain, but there’s nothing going on there and nothing ever well.”

Nick stood and was about to say something else when his phone beeped. He glanced at the message and his lips twitched into a smile.

“Good news?” asked Phil.

“No. Just an update I was waiting for.” He looked back up at Phil. “Think about what I said, Cheese.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Marcus, as soon as I’ve got a week to kill and nothing better to do I’ll think about it.”

Nick just shook his head and opened the door to Phil’s office to leave. That time of night the offices outside should have been empty, but standing on the other side was Barton, his hand raised to knock.

Nick motioned him in and stepped behind him, taking advantage of momentarily having Barton’s back to him to give Phil a very pointed look.

 


	4. Chapter four - Coffee

Clint looked between his boss and the Director of SHIELD, who were obviously having an intense eye conversation, and seriously considered coming back later, but when he started to step backwards Director Fury put a hand up to stop him. “I’m done here. You can stay Barton.” Fury took a step backwards and without another word closed the door behind him, leaving Clint alone with Phil.

Confused, Clint took in the rest of the scene, including the glasses and largely empty bottle of scotch. Hesitantly, he said, “Sir, I brought you a coffee, but we could go out for something stronger if you like. My treat?”

Clint felt like he was holding his breath waiting for Coulson to answer. On the one hand, he had wanted to take Coulson out for a drink since the first time they met; on the other hand, he loved being the one to bring Coulson his coffee.

“I’d like a coffee please.”

Clint smiled his trademark Barton grin to cover up his disappointment at hearing the exact same phrase said in the exact same tone it was every day when Clint asked him what he’d like to drink.

Coulson sighed. “On second thought, I think I should just head home. It’s been a long week. We can debrief about your mission on Monday. Enjoy the weekend, Agent Barton.”

Clint’s heart sank just a little bit more. Every time he felt like he was making progress with Coulson, the man shut him down. But he kept his smile bright and opened the door for both of them to leave. “You too, sir.”


	5. Chapter five – Blinded by the light

The whole ride home, Phil couldn’t stop thinking about Clint and examining their entire history together.

His recruitment had been… unorthodox. It had been a sneaky manoeuvre on Phil’s part, filing the paperwork to collect Barton and then using the little known clause that allows for executive action on unauthorized plans that have been submitted but not yet approved, if the target is in imminent danger.

But, Phil reasoned with himself, Clint’s recruitment wasn’t the only time he had used little known clauses to his advantage. Nobody knew the regulations like he did and he was not afraid to use his mastery of paperwork to get what he wanted.

He’d never thought too hard about why he did it for Clint, and looking back he still wasn’t sure. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time and while Phil always preferred to have a plan, he also trusted his instincts and his instincts had told him that Clint was a good guy – he’d had a tough life, but he had a hero’s heart, and Phil believed in second chances. Phil knew himself well enough to know that he had a bit of a hero complex of his own: he’s always had a thing for rescuing strays and supporting the scrappy underdog. And Clint, well he fit right into both those categories. So yeah, if he takes the extra time to watch over all of Clint’s missions, it’s just because he wanted his agent to succeed, nothing more.

It’s not like his heart skips a beat every time Clint says ‘Yes, sir.’ Surely he’d have noticed if that was happening right? He spent more time watching Clint practice on the range than any of his other agents, but that’s because Clint uses a bow and the way his muscles ripple when he practices… Phil was sure if he hadn’t had two glasses of scotch earlier that sentence would have have ended differently and would have justified why he watches Clint practice, he just can’t think of the justification right now.

The point is Nick was just imagining things if he thought Phil was paying an illogical amount of extra attention to Clint. There was nothing going on there.

 

* * *

 

Saturday morning, Phil woke up with the hangover from hell and swore to himself that he would never drink that much scotch in one night again. He was getting way too old for that shit.

Sunday morning, Phil should have been able to sleep in, but his phone went off before the birds started chirping, and by the time the sun was rising, he and Barton were on a plane to Chicago to deal with a priority mission.

Monday morning should see them both back at SHIELD debriefing, but instead Phil was pacing ten steps forwards and backwards in the tiny safe house and constantly checking the clock, dreading to see even the second hand move to the next tick.

Barton was late.

Barton had been off comms for hours.

The last thing Barton said to him before he went dark was, “I need to try a different approach on this one. Please trust me, Coulson. Barton out.”

So Phil was pacing and his heart had been pounding for hours. He could hear every pulse beat in his ears, he couldn’t even drink coffee because his stomach was so tied up in knots, and he didn’t need the coffee because he’s so on edge he couldn’t sit still. Every sound is made him jump and every shadow flicker made his heart skip a beat. He needed Barton to come back. He needed Clint to come home.

Phil didn’t sleep.

A full day passed and he had to call it. Agent Clint Barton was missing in action.

He called in backup and broke protocol to lead the recon team himself.

They found nothing.

He did it again the next day.

A week later, Agent Barton was officially declared missing in action and, based on available evidence, assumed dead. The mission was closed and Coulson was recalled to base.

When Phil submitted his final write up, he lied about their last communication. He said it after Clint asked Phil to trust him, Phil said ‘Go ahead Barton.’ and then Clint said, ‘Barton out.’ It’s a tiny lie, but it means that on paper Clint was acting with his authorization.

Clint probably didn’t even care that he was supposed to wait for authorization, and in most cases Phil trusted Clint enough that it wouldn’t matter, but Phil doesn’t want Clint’s permanent file to show that he went against orders on his last mission. It’s the only time Phil has ever lied on a mission report.

Barton had been declared dead and Phil was supposed to let it go, but he couldn’t. He requisitioned a top priority recon team for an eyes-only purpose. He sent them after Barton. He needed to find the trail. Even if it was only a body, he needed to know.

Losing Clint hurt. He’s lost agents before. He’s lost teams, and he’s lost friends, but this felt different. All those walls he’d been building in his mind and all those things he didn’t let himself think about when it came to Clint, they come apart like wet paper in the face of his grief.

He’d known that he spent more time than he should thinking about how attractive Clint was, but for the first time ever he realized that Clint had also somehow burrowed his way into every part of Phil’s life. Clint was part of his daily routines, his coffee habits, his donut habits. Without Clint around, he doesn’t know who to forward his jokes to or who to look at when something funny happens during a mission briefing. Two weeks after Clint was declared lost, he found himself with an extra muffin and no one to share it with because he had somehow forgot that Clint wasn’t here anymore. He skipped the Yankee game that weekend because that was something he did with Clint and doesn’t want to give his ticket to anyone else.

Instead he invited Nick over for a drink and poured them both too much scotch. They didn’t talk about why they were drinking or why they weren’t watching the game, but Nick knew and at some point Phil was pretty sure he told Nick that he was a fucking idiot for not realizing it sooner. Nick just poured them both another drink.

The next day, Hawkeye and Black Widow walked into SHIELD HQ and surrendered themselves.


	6. Chapter six – Sometimes You Know it in Your Bones

Nick got the report first and he stormed into the interrogation room ready to rip Barton a new one for his reckless behaviour and either take out Black Widow himself or sign her contract in blood – with a woman that dangerous, there could be no neutral middle ground between friend and enemy. As the Director of SHIELD he has both admired and feared Black Widow for years. She was known for being terrifying, beautiful, skilled, and deadly. If he could have her, he wanted her. If he couldn’t, then he couldn’t risk letting her become his enemy.

The interrogation room was designed to be intimidating. The bare white floor and walls gave it a surgical and industrial feel, and the slick material on the surfaces told anyone in the business that SHIELD could easily clean blood off the walls. Director Nick Fury, all in black with his leather duster and eye patch, cut a frightening figure to begin with – in this setting, he could be downright terrifying. So he took his time staring down the prisoners and let his silence weigh on them.

The initial debrief report had made it clear that either Hawkeye or Coulson had lied about what was said in their last communication and since they were in the spy business, lying on official reports was usually a sign that someone was a traitor; as such, while the situation as under investigation, Coulson had been automatically banned from all contact with the prisoners.

Usually, Nick would have bet his life on Coulson’s honesty, but in this case he was going to bet Barton’s version was true. Whether his ol’ pal Cheese wanted to admit it or not, Coulson had a soft spot for Barton that was as big as his Captain America collection, and if Coulson thought Barton was dead… well it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine Coulson fudging a mission report so that Barton’s last mission didn’t show him going against orders. But he had to rule out other options first, so he stood there, glaring at Hawkeye, putting the pressure on him to break, and ignored Black Widow completely.

Which is why he was surprised when Black Widow was the first to speak. “Please don’t kill me.” Nick focused his attention on her instantly and she continued. “I’ve admired you and what you’ve done with SHIELD for a long time, and Clint says you believe in second chances. If that’s true, I’m looking for a way to start over and I want to do it with SHIELD, if you’ll have me.”

Nick’s gaze flicked between the two prisoners and he said nothing for a long moment. His mind was whirling. This was one possible scenario he hadn’t considered. It made sense on a lot of levels. Coulson and Barton both had a soft spot for strays. If the Black Widow was looking for a fresh start, Barton would want to give her that, just like Coulson gave it to him. And Black Widow, or Natasha Romanoff as she claimed her name to be, could she be the one for him?

Nick refocused on Hawkeye and cut to the chase. “Barton, you claim that you went after Black Widow without authorization from Agent Coulson. So why do I have a signed report from Coulson, the pinnacle of honesty, saying he responded to your last message authorizing you to go ahead?” Nick knew it was a formality at this point. He knew his agents and he knew in his bones that Barton was proclaiming his lack of authorization to protect Coulson just like he knew Coulson was pretending to have authorized Hawkeye to protect Barton. It was really quite ‘gift of the magi’.

Barton’s mouth opened and closed but no noise came out. He couldn’t have looked more surprised to learn about Coulson’s report if Nick had given the pronouncement using interpretive dance.

Nick waved aside Barton’s silence. “Don’t bother trying to explain it. I’ll deal with Coulson.” Nick opened the door to the room and spoke to the guard on duty. “Have both of these two written up. Tag them and keep them under guard, but since they are both here of their own free will,” he looked back at the prisoners and his tone made it clear the next part was a direct order, “I trust that they aren’t going to try and do anything suspicious like escape.”


	7. Chapter seven – Keep Him Safe

Coulson was pacing in his office. He’d been blocked from viewing any of the reports but he knew Barton’s initial debrief would be enough to show that Phil had lied on his mission report and that was going spell trouble for him. Fury was never quick to forgive a lie. But even the fear of Fury’s wrath couldn’t keep his attention. For the first time ever, he couldn’t force himself to focus on anything. His heart was beating fast and his brain was buzzing.

Hawkeye was alive.

_His Clint_ was back and his mind was racing, going over and over again every time Clint had said, “Yes, sir.” There had been hundreds, _thousands_ of times over the years. Had any of them been different? Had Clint ever shown any sign of interest? Phil examined every memory and abused his access rights to rewatch old video files of their most significant missions. They all showed the same thing: Barton was Barton. He was talented, he was funny, he was snarky, he took unnecessary risks, he was sexy in his uniform (god was he ever hot in that uniform! And now that Phil had let himself think it, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways he wanted to strip Clint out of that uniform and the things he wanted to do with him…)

But Clint had never once looked at Phil as more than a handler or at most a friend. So Coulson prepared himself. When Barton showed up again, it would all be as usual. Phil had a crush, nothing more; without matching soulmate words, they would be violating SHIELD regulations if Phil ever tried to make it anything more. But there was still the issue of Phil lying on the mission report. Unable to sit still, Coulson had resumed pacing when Director Fury unexpectedly barged into his office.

Coulson was expecting the Director to read him the riot act, what he wasn’t expecting was for a stunned looking Nick to flop himself down on the couch without saying a word.

“Marcus?” asked Phil carefully. “Are you okay?”

Nick stood up and started pacing the same path up and down the room that Phil had been walking all morning. He seemed so full of nervous energy it looked like he was barely restraining himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked and the unusual behaviour had Coulson worried.

Coulson knew extremely uncharacteristic behaviour could be a sign that something was wrong, or it could be a sign that this man wasn’t, in fact, Director Fury, but was instead an alien/robotic/parasitic (pick your flavour of the month) duplicate.

Phil Coulson had been around the block enough times not to take anything for granted and right now the Director looked almost _giddy_ , and that was not a word Phil was used to associating with his friend. “Marcus? What’s going on?”

Nick’s voice was a gleeful whisper. “It’s her! I just know it.” He continued on in a rush. “I don’t know how to explain it, and there have been a few times before when I thought someone might have said my words... But with her… The way she said it… And have you read her dossier? Who wouldn’t be half in love with that woman without even meeting her?”

“Slow down. Who the hell are we talking about, Marcus?”

Nick met his stare and then his lips spread wide in a predatory grin that showed off all of his teeth. “Natasha Romanoff,” he proclaimed, “the one and only Black Widow! She said my words, and so help me God, I’m going to make that woman mine!”

Phil had seen his friend happy before; he’d seen him victorious; he’d seen him exultant, but he had never seen him so openly joyful. He couldn’t help but return his best friend’s smile. This was not a time for drowning sorrows, but a time for celebrating happiness, so Phil poured them both just two fingers of scotch and said, “Tell me everything.”

Nick explained about Hawkeye and Black Widow. He described the briefing report and his first meeting with Natasha.

Phil was happy for his friend, but also a little cautious. “You know it could just be a coincidence,” he warned.

But Nick was having none of it. “Then she’ll say them again later. Or if she doesn’t, I don’t care. Soulmate words be damned. I’m going to find a way to make her mine. It just _feels_ right. Haven’t you ever had anything just feel right?”

Phil thought back over the time he spent thinking Clint was dead. The missing coffees, the extra snacks he bought, the ongoing ache of feeling like something was wrong with the laws of the universe because his world felt so wrong without Clint. He had no idea how he’d managed to ignore how right it must have felt when Clint was around, but he certainly knew how wrong it had felt when he wasn’t.

His face must have shown what he was thinking because Nick’s smile also began to fade. “You should talk to him.”

Phil scowled at his friend. “I haven’t even had access to see him.”

“Don’t take that tone with me. You lied on the report, Coulson.” Phil’s scowl deepened and Nick held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. “You’ll have access to him soon, and when you do, talk to him.”

Phil sighed and deflated. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, he’s never given me any sign.”

Nick quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’ve never known you to be chicken, Cheese,” he taunted.

Phil flashed him a challenging grin. “And how long did you stay and talk to Natasha after you decided she was the one for you? Did you even speak to her?”

“I would be happy to go back and talk to her right now. In fact,” he said standing up, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

Phil just rolled his eyes at his friend and smiled. “You do that.”

Nick was about to say something else, when the door to Phil’s office opened to reveal Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff standing on the other side. So instead, Nick said, “Ms. Romanoff, if you would care to come with me, I believe Agent Barton and Agent Coulson have some communication issues to discuss.” He gallantly held out his arm for Natasha, and surprising both Phil and Clint, she took it and allowed Nick to escort her out.

Phil fully intended to be the first one to speak. He wanted to hear Clint say his words. To believe that he had some reason to hope; but just seeing Clint again drove all other thoughts out of his head. Clint looked good. Phil had always known that Clint was distractingly attractive, with his spiky blond hair that refused to lay flat, his bright blue eyes that sparkled like he knew a secret joke, and thoughts of his well-muscled arms had invaded Phil’s personal thoughts on more occasions than he had ever cared to admit. But today Clint was dressed in casual street clothes with a too small t-shirt that clung to every curve of his muscles and left a tantalizing line of skin visible above his jeans which were slung low on his hips and showcased a perfect valley of flesh between his hip bones and his perfectly sculpted abs.

Phil licked his lips and tried to breathe. He wanted to touch. He wanted to trace his fingers across that skin. He wanted to kiss and bite at the teasing bit of flesh and hear how Clint responded. Would he whimper and moan? Would he beg Phil to go lower? Or would he laugh because he was ticklish? The desire to find out burned inside of him.

Clint’s voice shattered Phil’s thoughts. “Good to see you again, sir. I was going to go down to the canteen to get a coffee before our debrief, what would you like me to get you?”

It was the same thing Clint said every time he came back from a mission. Always the same question. “What would you like me to get you?” If Phil could have a kiss from Clint for every time Clint had asked him that question he would die a happy man, but it was asked with the same tone and the same inflection Clint had used since he first joined SHIELD.

Phil hadn’t even had a chance to say something, to give Clint the chance to start the conversation by saying his words. He felt like his heart was breaking and he wondered if every conversation with Clint he had from now on was going to start by breaking his heart. But Phil Coulson was a man who prepared for every contingency and he had anticipated this possible scenario, so he gave the same answer he had for years, “I’d like a coffee please.”

It was too much to hope that Clint would have said something different this time. But it was okay. Phil could cope with this. By the time Clint returned with their coffees he would be ready to debrief, and when it was time for their next mission he would be ready for that too. Clint was his best agent and he’d keep him safe. He would always keep him safe.

 

 


	8. Chapter eight - Holding on to Hope

The next morning, Clint showed up just a little bit earlier than usual. Coulson had been so cold during yesterday’s debrief and worrying about it had kept him up all night. He hadn’t expected SHIELD to welcome him back with open arms after what he’d done, but he hadn’t expected Coulson to be so cold and it had hurt. He and Coulson had always made a great team, but he wanted more, he’d always wanted more. He knew it wasn’t professional, but he’d never really cared about that. In fact the only reason he hadn’t proposition Coulson on a regular basis over the years was that he knew Coulson did care about being professional and wouldn’t appreciate it. It was a damn annoying catch-22.

Agents were expected to login as soon as they got on base but every morning, regardless of circumstances, instead of logging in, the first thing Clint did was come by Coulson’s office and ask him what he’d like from the canteen. Every day Phil gave the same response, ‘I’d like a coffee please.” Clint thought it was a little odd that Phil had never started questioning why Clint didn’t just start bringing him the coffee instead of asking, but Phil had never brought it up so Clint counted his lucky stars and kept on asking.

Clint knew it was a little childish, but he’d had a crush on his handler since pretty much the first time they met and since he’d managed to pretend to be something like a mature adult in all other regards, he allows himself this one exception. He’d always been the kind of guy who crushed on people hard and fast; usually his crushes faded away with time, or the person he was infatuated with would do something to make themselves less appealing, but it’d been years now and as far as Clint could tell, his crush had just been getting worse.

So every morning, the first thing he did was check on Coulson and ask him what he’d like to drink. It was fucking stupid and he knew it. Because every damn time Coulson said, ‘I’d like a coffee please,’ Clint’s heart skipped a beat and he watched Coulson to see if there was anything different, but it’s been years and nothing has changed.

When Clint was growing up, he didn’t like his words. ‘I’d like a coffee please.’ It made him sound like he was a waiter or working at a coffee shop, and that sounded like a waste of life. But later, as he got older, he started focusing on the last word, ‘please’. His soulmate was someone nice.

His parents had been soulmates but his father’s fists had taught him that soulmate did not mean safe. But Clint’s soulmate was the kind of person who said ‘please’ even when they were just asking for a coffee. He liked that idea. So he offered to get drinks for people who seemed nice all the time.

Coulson was no exception and Clint had been offering to get him drinks since the first time they met. The first time Coulson said his words he’d just about lost his shit. But then he’d realized that Agent Coulson hadn’t even been looking at him when he said it. He was just looking at his briefing document and giving his drink request like it was any other day. After that, Clint spent a lot of time following Coulson around via the vents and he discovered that Coulson always asked for coffee the same way. It wasn’t special. That he had said it to Clint didn’t mean anything. It was just Coulson being Coulson.

He’d been heartbroken and spent more time than he’d care to admit watching cheesy soulmate romances on late night tv, before he decided that just because Coulson said his words all the time, did not mean that his words wouldn’t mean something special sometime in the future. So Clint pulled himself back together and with a smile that was only a little forced he was back to showing up at Coulson’s office first thing in the morning and asking what he’d like to drink. Clint also made a point of starting every mission that way. If they were away, Clint always tried to make sure the first thing Coulson heard in the morning was Clint asking him what he’d like to drink. He kept hoping that his handler would just wake up one morning and decide he was in love. It hadn’t happened yet, but as he opened the door to Coulson’s office, he had no doubt about how he was going to start today’s conversation.


	9. Chapter nine – The Interlude of Years

Phil accepted his new normal. Natasha joined SHIELD and Strike Team Delta became a force to be reckoned with. Every morning, Clint came by and asked Phil what he’d like to drink. Phil promised himself almost daily that he would tell Clint to call him ‘Coulson’, but every time Clint said ‘yes, sir’ his heart skipped a beat and he hated and loved that moment too much to give it up, so eventually he stopped making that promise to himself. Days turned into weeks and months and years and Phil told himself he was happy.

He was happy to see Clint smile. He was happy to see the friendship develop between Clint and Natasha that less like a friendship and more like the joining of two lost souls and he was happy for Nick. Nick who followed Natasha around like lost puppy, if a lost puppy could use super-secret surveillance and stealth technology to do it so discreetly that Phil doubted even Natasha would even notice.

But then he saw the way Natasha shifted a little when Nick was around. How a layer of her masks would drop away and how she smiled at him when she thought no one was looking (of course she knew he was looking, but she trusted him.) And perhaps that was the most remarkable thing about Black Widow. After years so long she had lost count, of being exactly who she was programed to be and feeling trapped in her own skin, Natasha Romanoff, for the first time she could remember since escaping the Red Room, learned something truly new, something that would forever belong just to her, something she could know in her heart was not tainted by her past: she learned to trust.

 

* * *

 

Phil liked routine the way most people liked champagne: a rare treat to be savoured when available. Had he been forced to do the same thing day after day, he would have gone out of his mind, but little sparks of routine were welcome the way unexpected surprises could be welcome to people who lived more ordinary lives. So he brushed his cat every night before bed; he hung his suits up in the same order in his closet; every morning when Clint asked him what he wanted he asked for a coffee. Before their debrief they would sit quietly together and drink their coffees – it was often Phil’s favourite part of his day.

The first time Natasha joined them for coffee, Phil didn’t mind. But when she showed up with Clint the next day and the day after, it started to get under his skin. It went on for weeks and it wasn’t until he snapped at a junior agent who brought him the wrong files that Phil stepped back to examine why he was so on edge.

Phil reminded himself that Clint wanted Natasha there. He told himself (not for the first time) that for Clint they were just morning coffees, they weren’t the best part of his day. So Phil did the best thing he could for everyone involved and invited Nick to join them for their morning coffees. Having Nick there made it both better and worse.

It was better because it took some of the pressure off, with so many people in the room, there was no way he could mistake it for personal time between him and Clint. It was worse because Nick and Natasha started to talk while they drink their coffees – Nick Fury, the king of the silent glare and the stoic suffering, became almost chatty. But he and Natasha talked about the most mundane things over coffee: the weather, the traffic patterns, and the coffee they were drinking.

It took Phil longer than he thinks it should have to figure out what was going on: they were courting and Clint and Phil were their chaperones. Nick was talking about everything mundane that Natasha had never had anyone to talk to about before. Behind her unreadable mask, the terrifying assassin who was the stuff of nightmares, was gleefully enjoying the most innocent attentions and flirtations.

Phil didn’t feel as bitter about his loss of time along with Clint after he realized that. It still ached and he missed their quiet time, but the first time Natasha giggled at a joke, the smile on Clint’s face made his heart soar and he was genuinely glad that his friends were so happy.

The weeks turned into months and then years.

The new coffee pattern held and Phil learned to enjoy the routine of it the way a man can learn to enjoy the sustenance offered by ration bars compared to steak. It would never feel as good, but it served a purpose and it was enough.

It took years for Nick and Natasha to progress beyond courtship, but when that damn broke it was like a watershed breaking, years of pent up sexual frustration that finally found physical form. Nick was not the kind to share details, so all Phil knows for sure is that he left for a mission with just Clint and when he returned things had changed.

He went over to Nick’s home to check in and have a drink, but when he opened the door the first thing he saw was Nick pressing Natasha up against a wall. He had one leg pressed in between her knees and one hand pinning both of hers above her head. It was a very dominant pose, but his head was thrown back and she was sucking on his neck and rolling their hips together to make him moan. Nick cursed and then begged, “Natasha, please. God, woman, I want to fuck you again. Please!”

Natasha threw Phil a wink. Blushing, Phil stepped back and closed the door as silently as he had opened it.

Coffee time became just Clint and Phil time again after that and Phil relaxed into the old routine easily. He doesn’t let himself think that it feels like coming home. The morning coffees become silent again and Phil sometimes imagined what it would be like to have these morning coffees with Clint in his home instead of in his office: Clint wearing just a pair of threadbare sleep pants and sitting at his breakfast bar; sleepy eyed Clint smiling at him when he gets the first whiff of coffee; brushing the strands of hair off of Clint’s face and kissing his forehead before handing him a cup. The images make his heart clench and he doesn’t let himself think about them often, just once or twice, over coffee, or every time Clint says ‘yes, sir.’

 

 


	10. Chapter ten – I Won’t be Held Responsible

The mission was supposed to be simple (aren’t they always?). But their safe house was compromised, Clint had been captured, and Phil blew up the base in the rescue effort. All of which should have been fine, but it was like a perfect storm of events which led to them having no way to contact SHIELD and SHIELD having every reason to believe they were dead.

So they’ve been stuck behind enemy lines, in the wilderness of Africa, for three weeks without any means of getting a signal to SHIELD and they both know that, according to protocol, they were given up for dead two weeks ago and there is no rescue coming.

Part of prisoner survival training is to count your blessings every day. It helps keep depression away and gives hope. So while Clint is reinforcing the lean-to they are sheltering under, he reminds himself of all the things that have gone right. Sure it had rained almost constantly, but that meant fresh water, and the temperature had not been as extreme as it could have been; other than the military patrols that were annoyingly skilled and unpredictable in their routes that they have to avoid every few hours and the landmines that are buried throughout the area, there aren’t a lot of dangers around and nobody knows they are there to actively want to kill them. It’s just that they have no guns, no technology, and Clint’s leg is broken which makes escaping through wild underbrush a daunting task. Clint sighed. He doesn’t think that is what the SHIELD trainers meant by counting his blessings. But then he looked over at Phil, who was just starting to wake up, and sighed a different kind of sigh.

Phil’s suit hadn’t survived the first week. He was down to an undershirt and the remnants of his suit pants that, in deference to the extreme heat and humidity, had been ripped off well above the knee leaving his muscular legs exposed. He had sweat droplets running down his skin and it shouldn’t have looked sexy, but Clint had caught himself staring more often than usual and even with the gross and sticky heat, he really wanted to kiss his boss and three weeks of just the two of them together, wearing next to nothing and having no private time was really starting to wear on him. But it was time for Phil to wake up and that meant this was one of the times when Clint was allowed to touch.

Clint shook him awake gently and said, “Good morning, sir.”

Phil sat up, yawned, and stretched. He hated everything about being in the jungle, except that he was stuck here with Clint. Waking up to Clint smiling at him was probably the closest thing he was ever going to have to actually having Clint and he loved it. Still half asleep, he smiled adoringly up at Clint. “I’d like a coffee please.”

Clint closed his eyes against that beautiful smile and those words, both of which he wanted to mean so much more than they did. It hurt how much he wanted those words to mean more and he groaned, “I swear sir, if you say ‘I’d like a coffee please’ to me one more time, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

Phil woke up quickly when he needed to and Clint’s unexpected reaction to his usual morning greeting was more effective than a jolt of adrenalin. Outwardly he stayed perfectly calm, stood up, stretched again, and raised a questioning eyebrow at the younger man. He deadpanned, “You’ve developed a hatred of all things coffee since we’ve been trapped in the jungle?”

Clint bit his lip and sighed. He did not have the energy for this game anymore. “No. It’s just that every time you say it, I want to kiss you.” He let out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding and relaxed a little. Finally saying it felt like letting go of a huge weight he’d been carrying for years. “I know it’s against the regs, but even SHIELD makes exceptions for soulmarks, and it’s not fair for you to taunt me by saying my words to me every damn day and not mean it.”

Phil’s heart was pounding. He took a step towards Clint and brushed his damp hair away from his face so he could look Clint in the eyes, just like he’d imagined doing hundreds of times before. “I say your words to you every day?” he whispered.

“Yes, sir.”

Phil didn’t let himself think. Maybe he was still dreaming. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes and leaned forward just enough to brush their lips together. Clint’s lips were soft and every point of contact sent bolts of lightning through Phil’s body. He felt electrified and it sucked all the air right out of him. Just one kiss left him breathless and so desperate for more it hurt.

Phil whimpered. His hands were trembling, but he forced himself to pull back enough that he could whisper, “I hear you say mine every time we talk, and it’s selfish, but I never asked you to call me Coulson or Phil because even after all these years, I kept hoping that one of these days you would say ‘yes, sir’ and it would mean something different.”

Clint eyes went wide with surprise and he felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. “I really don’t want to misunderstand you, sir. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Phil gave him a bright dopey smile and pulled him closer but didn’t kiss him again. “Clint, I’ve been in love with you for years. If you feel the same way, please make me the happiest man alive and kiss me.”

Clint beamed and moved to kiss him again, pausing only to whisper against his lips, “yes, sir.”

The kiss was perfect and everything they’d both been dreaming about for years, but it only lasted a heartbeat before they were startled apart by Natasha dropping down out of the trees around them. “As touching as this is, it was not easy to organize this rescue and we don’t really have time to for you boys to figure this out right now. We’ve only got a few minutes before their patrol vehicles are going to run out of gas and it won’t take them long to notice that Nick has stolen one of their jeeps. Would you like to get out of here now?”


	11. Chapter eleven - Forever

Clint knocked on Phil’s office door and took advantage of his new boyfriend status to walk in without waiting for him to answer. “Are you ready to go home?”

Just a few weeks of dating and Clint had claimed ownership rights of Phil’s office, Phil’s home, and it felt like pretty much everything Phil owned had become Phil-and-Clint’s (except Lola and Phil wasn’t sure that final remaining vestige of his bachelor days was going to last long), but the truth is Phil loved how Clint had woven himself into every part of his life now and he’d be happy to share even Lola with him.

But tonight Phil had a lot of work to do and he couldn’t keep putting it off just so he could spend more time at home with Clint. He sighed woefully and smiled at Clint apologetically. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just have too much work to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. But if I get enough done tonight, I won’t have to come in on Saturday. I’ll make it up to you then?”

Clint hummed noncommittally. “You work too hard. Can I get you anything before I go?”

Phil paused to smile at his boyfriend. “I’d like a coffee please.”

Clint smiled back at him. “Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

A few minutes later Clint returned. He used his hip to push down the handle for Phil’s door and to open door enough to get in with his arms full. He was carrying two coffees, delivery from Phil’s favourite Italian restaurant, and a box full of fresh bakery donuts.

Phil went through a myriad of emotions very quickly: surprise at how fast Clint returned; confusion at the amount of food; frustration that Clint hadn’t listened to him and wasn’t going to let him work; amusement at the acrobatic way Clint chose to enter the room; touched because Clint knew his favourite foods; loved because Clint had clearly organized all of this hours ago to make sure he would get dinner; grateful because he had the best boyfriend in the world.

Phil closed his laptop. He could find another time to get this done. “I love you.” It just slipped out. He’d thought it so many times over the years and especially in the last few weeks. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to say, but he still held his breath waiting for Clint’s response.

Clint’s face fell and Phil felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He’d thought things had been going so well, he hadn’t expected Clint to look like a kicked a puppy because Phil said he loved him.

But then Clint’s eyes started to twinkle and he said, “Aww, Phil. No.” And now Clint was pouting but smiling at the same time. “You went and stole my thunder for tonight. I had special donuts made for you and everything.”

Confused but calmer than he’d been a moment ago, Phil opened up the box of donuts.

There were 16 plain frosted donuts. Written on them in purple icing was:

 

> I ♥ U
> 
> Will U Marry Me?

 

Phil blinked and looked up at Clint.

Clint had moved so he was down on one knee beside Phil’s desk and grinning mischievously up at him. “Maybe you didn’t steal all my thunder? Phil Coulson, I’ve loved you from the first day I met you. Will you marry me?”

Phil blinked back tears. All those years he thought he’d missed out on his chance and now he had the most perfect man, his perfect soulmate, to love and cherish forever.

“Yes. Forever and ever. I love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm, so yeah, this was my first attempt at a soulmate au. I hope you liked it.
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Oh, and you can always come say hello, I'm on Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/twangcat


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